


Don't Forget Your Old Ship-mate

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Ending Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 18:16:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: What should be a joyful occasion in Piett's long naval career is tempered by a painful parting.





	Don't Forget Your Old Ship-mate

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this tidbit of Imperial delicacy is dedicated to the almighty Eisenschrott. 
> 
> Title of course comes from the classic sea shanty, "Don't Forget your Old Shipmate"

"Good to see you still breathing. Come for a drink when you're presentable? Our usual place will do, I think." 

That was all the message had said. 

Hardly an unusual request from Firmus, especially after a long drudge of a campaign. It hadn't been particularly loss-heavy but it had been long, and Max was never more grateful than to set foot on the deck plate of the good ship Executor after weeks on a cold, wet mudpit of a planet. 

After a quick shower he'd made his way through the endless lifts and halls of the Lady Ex towards Firmus's berth. Unusually, there were none of the usual stormtrooper guards at the door to the Admiral's quarters, and he mentally sighed in relief as he inserted the code cylinder. Even then, he was still unable to stop that nervous habit he'd developed of holding his breath during the millisecond it took for the cylinder to be accepted by the high-security lock, and his entry authorized. 

Upon walking into the spacious - for a starship at least - quarters, Max saw no sign of habitation, barring the work desk and data terminal on one side, and nearby two serviceably comfortable chairs by a low table. A decanter full of a distinctive dark amber drink and two glasses sat out on the tabletop as well. 

"Firmus?"

"I'm just in m'sleeping berth," came the reply, muffled behind the sliding and code-locked door of the bedroom.

"Be out on a moment. Just go ahead an' pour us a couple glasses o' that Corellian, eh?"

He grinned as he sat down and obliged. It was always a good sign when the Core varnish began to flake off Firmus's true Axxilan brogue this early in the day-cycle. Max opened the decanter, taking a moment to breathe in the rich fumes coming off the liquor before pouring a glass for himself. He was about to fill the second when the bedroom door slid open. 

Max raised his head in a brief acknowledging greeting to his naval counterpart - before his head snapped up to where the smaller man now stood in at-ease stance, legs apart as if braced on a pitching deck and with his hands behind his back. A flattering look nonetheless, but it wasn't how Firmus was standing that made Max double-take - it was what he was wearing. 

It was a new uniform, but made of crisp white material instead of somber grey, the tunic embellished with a badge with at least two new colours on it and brand-new gold-metal epaulettes at the shoulders. A white cap with an equally new silver roundel was perched on top of his immaculately combed hair. His tall boots were clearly new as well, shined almost to a mirror finish, and when he brought a hand forward to scratch briefly at his chin, Max saw that he wore gloves so un-used that they creaked a little as his hands flexed against the stiff material. 

Unmistakably, the uniform of an Imperial Grand Admiral. 

Max thanked all of his combat-honed nerves that he did not keel over in shock right then and there at the sight. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Instead he sat there stiff as a board with his jaw hanging slack, like a raw recruit riot trooper who'd gotten a hold of the wrong end of a shock-baton. 

Firmus seemed oblivious to Max's reaction, and just shrugged with a little smile, a look entirely at odds with the striking new uniform and the status and experience it implied. As he strode forward to stand in front of the seated general, he nervously brushed one shining black-gloved hand down the front of the tunic, fingering the hemline. 

"D'you like it? It arrived this mornin' - clothiers and tailor-droids really are top notch in the Imperial manufacturing districts, I must say. They've only got better since I last ordered my admiral's rig. I was worried it wouldn't suit white, but it has grown on me since I put it on this day-cycle," he chattered with a half-smile and his eyes flitting everywhere in the room but Max's face. 

The general set the decanter down, and stood up to properly survey the sight of Firmus in his finery. He reached out as if to clap his hands over his shoulders, but stopped short of actually touching the new Grand Admiral, as if the white synthwool kept his hands at bay with a micrometer-thick ray shield. 

"Firmus…when did this happen?" he asked. 

"Oh, the promotion, of course. Yes." 

Firmus paused, taking hold of the neck of the decanter and swirling the contents gently, watching the half-whirlpool inside dissipate as he spoke. 

"It…actually happened a few days ago. A message from the Emperor, delivered via a Sentinel droid but a genuine recording from him. Read out right there on the bridge. After it left, the place went into complete chaos, took me twenty minutes to get everyone back to their stations and to stop slapping my back in congratulations," he smiled little as he recalled the scene. 

"I even got a comm from Sloane, welcoming me to the club. The call was being monitored but she sounded pleased at seeing 'someone truly competent invited to join our ranks' - I fancy I might be in for a hotbed of gossip and backstabbing, even at this great height."

"Are you…happy?" 

Max cringed internally almost as soon as the words left his mouth. *Well done, Max,* he thought, *You've just won the award for dumbest kriffing thing ever said to a newly-promoted man in the history of the galaxy.*

Firmus's face broke out into a huge, warm grin, completely at odds with his stiff new rig. 

"Am I happy? For haran's sake Max', I'm overjoyed! I felt like grabbin' the nearest Stormie captain and waltzing with 'em all the way to my quarters," he gushed, before the core world composure took over from the giddy Axxilan vernacular. 

"And I very nearly did. But I sensibly just walked back to my quarters and did some paperwork. I haven't been on the bridge of the Ex since - I've let Admiral Etna run the show, let the lad get a feel for how the Lady runs."

"But…why?"

The admiral gave Max a small, almost shy smile, looking up at him from under the brim of his cap. 

"'Cause I wanted to share this big moment with you, Max," came the quiet reply. 

Not knowing what else to do, Max seized the smaller man's face in his hands and drew him into a sloppy, enthusiastic kiss, knocking that pristine white cap off in the process. Firmus didn't seem to mind in the least, and smiled against his mouth before kissing back with equal vigour as he threw his arms around Max's neck, and was practically lifted off the ground by the general. Even when Max drew away for air, Firmus stayed smiling, looking completely and utterly contented, cheeks flushed and previously-immaculate hair now a mess. 

"Well," Firmus panted. "wonderful as that was, I think a toast is in order for news this big."

"But of course." 

Max gave him another quick peck, ruffling the smaller man's hair and ignoring the half-hearted attempts to bat his hand away before pulling back. He refilled their glasses to the rim, raising his own glass as they sat down in their respective chairs once more. 

"To our newest Grand Admiral - may he long keep the space lanes clear of rebel scum and the bridge clear of incompetent officers." Firmus nodded. 

"An' may the galaxy be too busy laughing at my plucked nuna carcass in this right gaudy uniform to see the orbital bombard comin'." 

Max couldn't hide his grin at the earthy tone creeping into Firmus's voice as they knocked back their first shots and refilled their glasses. 

"So. Not that I'm in a hurry, but how come you're not on the bridge of your shiny new command, barking orders to mere greybacks?"

"Ah, the paperwork went through a few hours after the messenger went," Firmus continued, after another sip of whiskey. 

"I was commed by the admiralty, told me to go to my office to await further instruction. They read me the riot act at length about state secrets, responsibility to the forces, and being at His Majesty's immediate command if need be, and not to take any of this lightly, blah blah. Had me sign about a thousand pages of bumf that I could barely understand, and immediately I had the bollock-brains to say I needed take several days to set my old command in order and conclude some outstanding affairs, which they amazingly obliged me. But!"

Setting down his drink abruptly, he sat up straight, clearing his throat as if he were about to make a speech. When he spoke again, he'd switched back to the authoritative Core accent that Max thought would no doubt be striking fear and backbone into the bright young officers of the fleet from now on - if it didn't already. 

"As of tomorrow's day cycle, I begin my life anew truly as Grand Admiral Firmus Piett of the ISSD Devastator. And I am beginning it with a cruise along the ragged borders of the Mandalore system, taking in hand the 'armoured barbarians' trying to raise the rabble against the Saxon regime."

"Just like you to still be hunting rowdy Mandos, decades after you stopped breaking up tihaar-house brawls on Axxila," Max chuckled. 

"Tihaar-house brawls that have left at least ten systems ablaze in an undeclared civil war that threatens to engulf the entire sector. And I can make this judgement myself without repercussions - I am now essentially an independent warlord waging my own campaign in the Emperor's service." 

"Must have quite the battery to do this, now," the general mused. Firmus nodded, a somewhat smug grin crossing his face. 

"Oh indeed. I've seen the ships, and my flag - in hologram form, at least. Going to be quite something else once I see her in rivets at Kuat. Like I said before, Devastator's an SSD, even heavier and newer than the Lady Ex. Quite a few convoy ISD as well, but damned if I could name them all now. Here," he reached over to his desk, and grabbed a very new looking data pad, keying in something quickly before handing it over to the general.

Max accepted the pad, immediately recognizing the lists of numbers and letters as the summation in text of a Grand Admiral's private army. With no little awe, he scrolled the lists of stormtrooper companies, armour regiments, TIE squadrons, the names of ISDs and specialist ships, plus their admirals, captains, generals - before he paused, frowned, and scrolled up, and down again. 

He did this several more times before he looked up at the new Grand Admiral, and felt his blood run icy at the impassive expression that had taken over the warmth of a moment before. 

"Fir'," he said, quietly; "the Thunderers aren't listed here. Or the Hellhounds, or the Blizzards, or Black Banthas…" he trailed off, feeling the pleasant spicy aftertaste of the liquor turning sour at the back of his mouth. 

"Ah yes, about that," the admiral replied, setting his drink down. He sat facing Max, with his hands clasped and head down, and breathed deep several times before speaking. 

"I…I really tried to get you transferred to the Devvie as my ground contingent. But, Grand Admiral rank or not, there's a roster already been set of my forces, and I was told that you were not to be transferred from the Lady Ex barring an order from His Majesty or Lord Vader himself."

"So who…"

"Oh, my new top armour general's a known one - Major-General Hautpol, in fact. Deep Core family, but solid. She's young - field promoted during that hellish run through the Kamorra sector. Not too experienced but already proven in her first few skirmishes. Y-you'd like her."

His voice was quiet and measured but the slight waver voice betrayed to Max the sheer emotion hidden behind the composed facade. He sat up straight again, and reached over to gently rest a hand on Veers' shoulder. 

"And Max…what I said earlier, about concluding outstanding affairs…"

But he knew what was coming, but despite himself Max flinched as Piett reached over and laid both his hands cupping the sides of Max's face and gently tilting it up to look him in the eye. 

"Maximilian. I cannot sugar coat it, because it won't change a single thing about the hard fact of the matter. And that fact is that you and I both know I will likely never see you again, barring the peace breaking out tomorrow."

He's far too experienced to even try and deflect the barbed words with a hopeful phrase.

"I…I know all of this, Fir. It's alright," he spoke, petting his arm to reassure the admiral even as he knew that no, it was not alright, that his heart was breaking over an undeclared affair that he'd foolishly get so damn deep under his skin that there was no way it was was not going to hurt coming back out. 

"You understand what this means?"

"Yes, I do. But," he couldn't hide the thickness creeping into his voice, "I always thought our parting would be nice and neat and…uncomplicated." 

Uncomplicated, like if you got shot out of the sky or if i was blown up in Blizzard One's cockpit on the ground, he thought bitterly. No messy uncertainties about that. The brief snort of laughter he got in reply told him in no uncertain terms that Firmus thought the same. 

"Life's got a way of being anything but 'uncomplicated' for us, hasn't it." 

"So…when do you go, officially?" 

"Tomorrow, six hours into day cycle. One of those new hyperspace capable shuttles is taking me to rendezvous with the Devastator over Kuat, and then its off to Mando Space." 

It's as if he read Max's silent question in his misting eyes, and he shook his head a little in response. 

"I'd- I'd stay here until then, but Etna is throwing me a farewell shindig in the officers' club. They all want to give me a proper send-off, but…"

*But I don't want to spend my last hours with you surrounded by drunk naval officers.*

Max knew that was probably what Firmus intended to say, but he didn't' give him the chance to finish. Instead he grabbed his face, hauling him to his feet even as he kissed him sudden and hard enough to steal his breath away. He backed the smaller man a few paces away into the wall, and Firmus did not fight him for one moment, throwing his arms around Max's shoulders and hanging on for dear life. 

They kissed for what felt like hours, as their hands groped at everything that could be felt under their uniforms and they nipped and licked into each other's mouths. Max pinned him with weight alone, trying to memorize the other man from head to hips, to recall the exact shape and feel of his body against his own as Firmus clung desperately to him. 

Fuck, all the times he had taken that for granted…and now here he was trying to burn it into his brain in the space of a few minutes. 

Max was prodded out of his thoughts by a persistent movement below, and glanced downwards even as Firmus whined and lapped at his mouth, now just out of reach. The admiral was trying to rub off against Veers' thigh, moving his hips in a downright obscene motion as he tried desperately to find the friction he needed. He gasped into his mouth when Max obliged, as he reached down and firmly palmed the front of his trousers, feeling his cock jump and twitch eagerly at the touch, even through the thick material. 

Max pulled back for a moment to look into Firmus's face. His chest ached to see the mix of pain and arousal in his eyes, and those kiss-reddened lips…

Suddenly, Max had an idea.

One that would ensure that Firmus would never, ever forget his last night on the Ex, or his last meeting with Maximilian Veers. 

Max felt like a man possessed as he dropped to his knees before the admiral. Before the other man could protest, Max had gotten his hands on his belt, pushed his tunic aside, and unbuttoned his trousers far enough to expose the dark shorts beneath. He briefly nuzzled his face against the hard bulge tenting the fabric, mouthing at the damp patch that had already formed there. 

Firmus's hands shot into his hair as he pulled the waistband down, freeing his stiff cock from its confines. He gave it a few cursory strokes, thumbing over the head, spreading the drops of precum down the shaft before they had a chance to drip to the floor or onto his boots. 

"C-careful," Firmus panted. Max nodded, before leaning forward and taking the slick, red tip into his mouth. 

He was ever so careful not to drool, doing his best to suck as much of Firmus's cock as he could into his mouth, stroking what he couldn't with one hand, keeping the other on Firmus's hip to hold him steady as he worked. 

He focused on the admiral's hands tangling in his hair, stroking and pulling in equal measure, holding him in place gently. He focused on the pressure-point ache of his knees on the hard floor of the berth, how they'd be reddened and raw afterwards. He focused on the taste of the cock in his mouth, the heat of the hard flesh under his tongue, the salty-bitter tang of the precum seeping from the tip.

Most of all, he focused on the fact that until the day he died, Firmus would remember this as their parting moment.

It wasn't long before Firmus's hips began to stutter against the general's iron grip on his hips. Max gave him a few more long, hard sucks, letting his eyes flicker shut as Firmus's cock twitched and he spilled down his throat with a quiet gasp. 

Max swallowed again and again until he was sure there was nothing left to drink down, and even then pulled away only slowly, licking him clean carefully before tucking him back into his shorts. Firmus looked down at him with bleary eyes, panting softly. 

"Max, I want to…"

Just then Firmus's comm chirped, and without a moment's hesitation he moved to respond as Max stood up to re-fasten his trousers. 

"Piett," he spoke into the mic, sounding a bit more shaky than his usual formal comm-voice would be. 

"Grand Admiral! It's Etna. I really, really don't want to commit insubordination by ordering you around, but the officers here are getting restless. They're keen to say goodbye, but even more keen to get pissed and I can't hold them in order for much longer. You'd' better hurry on over."

"I'll be there in a moment, Etna," he replied as he switched the comm off just as Max finished re-buckling his belt and smoothing his tunic down. He brushed Firmus's hair back into some semblance of order and set his still-pristine white cap on top, before he turned to leave. Firmus stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

"Max, wait. I…"

Max turned around, and touched a finger to his lips to silence him. He leaned in and kissed him again, soft and lingering, one last time, before he pulled away with a small, fond smile. 

"Go, Grand Admiral," he said quietly, tears brimming in his eyes.

"It wouldn't do to keep them waiting."


End file.
